INFATUATED

Monday I

Phoenix

Dear diary,
As you may know today was my first day of high-school. It was different than how I imagined it'd be. I thought people would not get judged here, but apparently they do - people always judge despite the fact they don't like being judged.

I started my day with coffee, black as usual. I fast took a mug from the kitchen and poured the black liquid in it and then I hurried to my room - the only place I feel safe. I do everything fast because of my parents. Dad came home again last night with an alcoholic breath. Mom knew giving him a lecture then wouldn't change anything so she saved her anger for now. I've heard them throwing horrible words at each other. There was even one time I sneaked into the living room to grab a pen when I saw Dad hitting Mom. The picture of it hunts me in my dreams, i could've done something - I know I wouldn't have been able to stop my Dad his fist that was high up in the air ready to go down like he was on a roller coaster. But I could've screamed or yelled or something. When they were yelling at one another, I used to cover my ears with my hands. Now, I just stare at one point because I can't shut out the voices physically, but maybe mentally I can.

When I swallowed the last bit of the hot liquid down my throat, I took my jacket and satchel and left my room. I carefully placed my mug on the kitchen table and left through the back door. There was no need in telling them I was leaving, they never listened to me - they pretended sometimes I wasn't their son but an object. I was waiting on the front porch when I saw the familiar yellow vehicle approaching me. A suppressed a smile. It stopped in front of me and the door opened. I stepped inside and said "Hi, Michael." to the bus driver. He answered with "Nice seeing you again, Phoenix" I then gave him a grateful smile and took place at the first seat on the left. The door closed and the bus started driving towards school - toward knowledge.

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The bus ride was how I expected it to be again, people laughing and gossiping even though school hadn't officially started yet. When we arrived and all got out of the bus, I had to take a moment to catch my breath - my mind had been running again lately. Everything was so different than in the movies - well, not that I expected people would be singing and everything. I thought I'd feel reborn, like a new person. But actually I just wanted to hide in my locker. The first lesson was math, I like the purpose of it - changing loads of numbers into one solution - the bad thing is, I don't understand it. How can people numbers above thousand subtract with another high number just by using their brain, why don't we just use calculators - Blaise Pascal invented the calculator for some reason, right? Mr. Caltor - it makes me think of calculator one way or another - was explaining what we were going to do this year. When the bell rang we all took our stuff and went outside, it's strange to constantly having to move from class. It makes me feel sick - or the thing that makes my stomach twist are the seniors coming my way. I turned around and started walking away with my head bowed, so I wouldn't lead to much attention. They walked straight past me and walked over to the boy that was putting up a schedule in his locker. They started punching him and a whole crowd grew around the spectacle. I wanted to help - I wanted to yell. But what would I've done than? I couldn't risk getting hurt too, I know it sounds selfish but it's always better when one gets beaten up than two, right? And besides, I'm not the sort of guy that goes for the rescue. I'm just me - no, I don't even know who's me and what characters I have, I'm invisible. That's what I am.

The invisible loner.

My last class of the day was advanced English. The only lesson I was good at, the only lesson where I didn't want to hide in my locker or in the cleaning supplies closet. I took my notebook with straight horizontal lines and my pencil - which I laid on the first horizontal line of my notebook. I didn't like disorder or change - the thought only that I'd have to move or change my way of doing things makes me want to curl up in a ball and drown in my tears. The teacher wrote his name down on the chalkboard which read Mr. Scribe. "Tell me, when existed the first paperback?" he said as he turned around and faced the class. He looked quite young - probable around the age of 25. His hair was brown and messy. All the fingers around me immediately raised up high in the air - except mine, I don't like speaking for a lot of people. People were whispering things, some even said the answer out loud - but their answer was wrong. I quietly wrote down the early 19th century. The teacher his eyes looked around in the room - like fingers that were tracing skin and looking for the right spot to kiss. His eyes fell on my. Please, don't. I thought. "Mr. ...?" he asked me. "I, um , I" I stuttered. My hands started trembling. "the early 19th century." the girl next to me said. I hadn't noticed her yet. "And you are?" Mr. Scribe asked. "Emanuel Brighton." she answered politely. Her hair was dark brown and she had some freckles on her nose - which was small. "Well, Mrs. Brighton, I didn't ask you but your answer is correct." She had a confident smile on her face. She then looked at me and smiled. "You're welcome." she whispered and then payed full attention again to the teacher. Her breath smelled like banana gum. "I want you all to read a book and write an essay about it, tomorrow we will vote which book you all will read." he finished the lesson and then the bell rang. "Phoenix, can I talk to you for a second." the teacher said while putting his pen in his suitcase. I took my stuff and quietly walked toward him. My shoes made a clacking sound on the tiles. "You wanted to talk to me, sir?" I asked carefully. "Ah, remind me of your last name, please." he said.

"Blunt, sir. Phoenix Blunt."

"You knew the answer to my question, right?"

"Right."

"Then why didn't you answer?"

"I don't like talking to a lot of people, they scare me." I looked at my shoes and I felt my cheeks turning red. How embarrassing; telling your teacher you're afraid of talking. "You really have to lose that fear, otherwise you won't get far in life. Here, read this book." he said as he handed me the book 'revolting literature' " it's one of my favourite books, but you can read it. It will change your life." he said as he walked past me and exited the room.

I finished the book seven minutes and three seconds ago - yes, I looked at the clock - and he was right. The book is life changing. I'm not sure it'll change mine now I've read it, but it will have changed someone else's life.

Love, Phoenix.